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Jim O'Donnell: Once upon a time in Cleveland, Jim Brown was the NFL's perfect gentleman

THE FIRST PROFESSIONAL SPORTS EVENT that a wee Irishman from suburban Cleveland ever attended was a long ago NFL game between the Browns and visiting Washington.

Jim Brown was supposed to star.

Instead, Bobby Mitchell blasted for 3 long TDs and the homies romped, 31-7.

(Thank you, Pro Football Reference.)

Brown, the ledger says, finished with 24 rushing yards on 17 carries.

It didn't matter. The trip to Municipal Stadium was a mystical gateway and Brown was the primary spiritual siren.

ALL OF HIS UGLY WOULD BEGIN to seep out a few years later.

The only hint of the unseemly touching him that October afternoon was immersed in the deliciously innocent passions of Cleveland sports:

• He wasn't the departed Rocky Colavito; and,

• His Browns were never going to match the remarkable 10-season, 10 championship games run of Paul Brown and Otto Graham (1946-55, the first four in the upstart All-America Football Conference).

THREE YEARS LATER, Brown's debut Hollywood movie - the otherwise flushable cow-poker "Rio Conchos" - was in first run at the old Arlington Theater in downtown Arlington Heights.

The transplanted young Clevelander stared at the big screen like he had locked in on no film since three months before, when "A Hard Day's Night" opened.

There was Jim Brown, even if he was fifth-billed.

A sense of shared triumph rushed through the juvenile senses.

WHEN HE DIED LAST WEEK at age 87, Brown left a complex legacy.

His dark side was scary and abhorrent.

There were battered reasons that he never profited from any grand, wide-scope national endorsement deals.

His football was overpowering. So too, implosively, could be his alpha male rage.

The positive elements of his social activism touched a compellingly extended tract, reaching from Muhammad Ali to LeBron James and potentially seeding the beyond.

FOR TWO SEASONS, between Sputnik and JFK, that wee Irishman's father flew all Browns charter flights as an account rep for United Airlines.

Very early on, one of the older brothers asked, "What's Jimmy Brown like?"

"A perfect gentleman," the father replied. "Really ... quiet and a perfect gentleman."

If only that scouting report had held to an untainted end zone.

Because once upon a time in Cleveland, Jim Brown was supposed to be a star.

And much more often than not, he was.

STREET-BEATIN':

Foxhole Blackhawks fans - all too accustomed to brutal letdowns - are not grooving on that sub terra rumbling that Connor Bedard and peeps will figure a way to his beloved Vancouver Canucks. An inconvenient reality is that win or lose, the 17-year-old prodigy would be much happier out of the gate staying at home. All he needs is plausible leverage to escape the toxicity of West Madison Street. (Case study: John Elway, 1983, ducking eccentric Bob Irsay and the Colts and yanking his way to self-dictated Denver mountain highs.) ...

The recurring utilization of Joe Girardi, Jon "Boog" Sciambi and Jim Deshaies on Cubs telecasts is one voice too many. The pitch clock makes the chilly banter even more cramped. Simple solution for Mike McCarthy and Marquee Sports: When Girardi works, the sedating Deshaies should sit out - or go bother tourists on Gallagher Way. ...

All that Jimmy Butler has been doing for Miami in the current NBA postseason merely falls into that ever-expanding category of Jerry Reinsdorf's "Curse of the Breakup." If Bulls "brains" want a full preview of where any further association with Zach LaVine will lead, they just need to look at the nonexistent pro championship arc of the recently retired Carmelo Anthony. With James Harden and Chris Paul completing the empty June-fecta. ...

The 2023 Preakness on NBC devolved into furlongs of thoroughbred tedium not worthy of any self-respecting Maryland crab. Winner National Treasure is not a horse for the ages. Watching Bob Baffert do "sincere" afterward was like Ray Romano tackling "Death of a Salesman." ...

Also chasing hooves, the esteemed Tom Durkin (Fenwick High, Class of '69) will come out of retirement to call FOX's first Belmont on June 10. Some say Durkin is the greatest caller in the history of the game. Much to his credit, the Chicago native never forgets to cite the enormous influence of the now-mythic Phli Georgeff on his career. (The two had a final summit at the 2002 Belmont.) ...

As Pedro Grifol and his tortuous Fail Hose continue to dog paddle, Jason Benetti crafts more on-the-fly marvelettes in the White Sox TV booth. No 39-year-old in America should be expected to have instant conversational recall of the 1950s quiz show scandal that brought down Jack Barry, Charles Van Doren and others. Benetti is a walking "Jeopardy!" master waiting to happen. ...

And Freddie Wesley, citing and odd gap in the NFL lunatic year: "Why is there no betting on the Bears OTAs?"

• Jim O'Donnell's Sports and Media column appears Sunday and Thursday. Reach him at jimodonnelldh@yahoo.com. All communications may be considered for publication.

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